


Candy and Condoms

by Emery, Lalaen (orphan_account)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Age Difference, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Avoidant Personality Disorder, Brother Feels, Businessmen, College Football, Daddy Kink, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Polyamory, Smut, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3272357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emery/pseuds/Emery, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Lalaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medications for mental illness can be of benefit, or they can be toxic--the same is true of relationships. Jean and Reiner are college juniors, attached at the hip since they met in group therapy during high school; but there are new men in their life, now--wiser men, older men, men with just as many demons lurking beneath their professional exterior as Jean and Reiner carry themselves. Jean has always wanted a Daddy, and Marco's just the one. Reiner, on the other hand, may have second thoughts about what he's encouraged Jean to pursue, even as he falls for Marco's bookkeeper Bertholdt.</p><p>A story of university life, big business, unconventional relationships, and mental illness in San Francisco--four men, multiple relationships, and more personalities than they can count.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candy and Condoms

**Author's Note:**

> Lalaen and I (Em) are back with another co-written multi-chapter fic! This one has been floating around in our heads for quite awhile now, so we figured it's time to get it out there for everyone else to enjoy just as much as we indulge in it on a daily basis. It's really sweet, we promise; but there are also some themes and scenarios which may be triggering to some readers. For this reason, we strongly encourage you to read the fic's tags as well as other warnings that we will post in chapter notes. 
> 
> We'll be tracking the tag "fic: candy and condoms" on Tumblr, and you can also tweet @emeryylee or @recrdchaos to share your thoughts, live readings, musings, questions, fanart, or what-have-you!

Jean’s been seeing this therapist for a almost two years now, finally settling into a weekly routine after cycling through multiple specialists upon his move to college, but there are still days when he comes home forcing back the salt tears prickling at his eyes and swallowing past the lump in his parched, tight throat. He remembers just how uncomfortable it was being forced to leave the psychologist he had seen for as long as he could remember, replacing what had become a steady and trusting relationship with another individual who didn’t know him at all and who probably didn’t care. There was one, then another, then a third--his current therapist is the fourth that he’s tried here in San Francisco. He expected more from this city when he had applied for college, and he’s still convinced the suburbs he calls home keep the best therapists in the state under lock and key.

The walk home from the bus stop isn’t even long, but Jean’s iPod is dead and he needs a distraction before he crumples to the sidewalk and bursts into tears. It’s around 3 in the afternoon, so Reiner’s still in practice. He might be finishing up, maybe hitting the showers or slapping some guy’s ass with a towel in the locker room, but either way he won’t be available to pick up the phone.

But Jean’s mom will be.

It’s an easy, comfortable habit to speed dial her cell and lift the phone to his ear. With the hand not holding his phone, Jean tugs his beanie down over his ears and then shoves his hand in his coat pocket as the wind picks up speed, whorling between the city buildings with enough strength that he sees a man’s hat go flying across the street.

Pick up, pick up. I don’t want to fucking cry here. Please, Mommy…

“Hey, honey!” Her voice is as warm and enthusiastic as ever, wrapping around him like a blanket fresh out of the dryer. “Did your appointment go okay?” There’s poorly-concealed concern there, too. She’s always concerned when Jean has an appointment. With good reason, Jean thinks wryly.

He doesn’t fuck with any sort of prelude. “She’s shit. It’s been two years and she’s still bringing up the fact that I don’t have a dad like that caused literally every single problem. It’s such a fucking cop-out, Mom. It’s not even fair. She doesn’t even try to care or help to fix me because she doesn’t and she can’t.” The effort that it’s taking Jean not to start sobbing outright in the street is growing by the second, and it’s apparent in the wavering of his voice.

“No, it isn’t fair, sweetheart,” she says gently. He’s pretty sure any other parent would be exasperated by now, but he doesn’t even hear disappointment in her tone. Either he’s way too spoiled or she’s just the best mom in existence. He goes with the latter. “We’ll find someone else if you don’t like her.”

Bless her, she didn’t even have to think about it, but that’s not what Jean wants, either. “Yeah, so I can just take forever to get to know another old fart who won’t even know how to help. Mom, no. I can’t do that again--it’s way too embarrassing and just too much and--”

Jean hiccups, interrupting his words, then whines, “I miss you…”

Even after three years away from home, Jean still misses his mom. Hell, he’ll never stop. Especially not when he’s like this, struggling with whatever he is that the therapists will never figure out. It’s easy to diagnose someone with a personality disorder. It’s something else entirely to manage it and help return a shred of normalcy to a lifetime otherwise plagued with medication and fear of an alternate becoming a permanent.

“I miss you too, Jeanbo.” Jean knows she’s used to this, used to him calling to complain but not wanting to actually take action; secretly knows that he just wants to talk. “You head on home, ok? Why don’t you order pizza tonight? That sounds fun. I know Reiner will be home soon.”

Jean pouts even though he knows his mom can’t see. The little high-pitched whine in his throat is enough to get his point across, though. “I feel bad bothering bro,” he says. He barely realizes that his voice has risen about an octave since he’s punched his mother’s number into the phone. “He’ll be tired from practice and what if I just annoy him?”

“Oh honey. You know you never bother him! Be honest.”

“What if I do and he just never tells me?”

“I can tell by the look in his eyes. He loves you. Don’t doubt that! And use protection.” She laughs like a little girl and Jean can feel his face start to burn.

It’s always weirder to hear stuff like that when he’s in this state of mind--the connection doesn’t happen right away, but when it does, Jean wishes he wasn’t wearing a scarf because damn if his neck isn’t hot. “Oh my god, Mom, okay. Mind your own business. Look, I’m--” With an angry, abrupt motion of his hand, Jean wipes the single tear that rolls down his cheek, leaving a hot trail in its wake. “I’m almost home. I’ll talk to you later, okay? I’ll get pizza and shit like you said.”

He barely waits for her to return his goodbyes before he’s shoving the phone back into his pocket and digging out his keys instead.

He hops up the steps to a quaint, two-story building not unlike the other colored Victorian-style apartments lining the residential street. He and Reiner live on the second floor--it’s a ten-minute bus ride to their university campus, and the rent is pretty cheap. It was all pre-furnished and everything--an easy move a few years back. Trotting up the wooden stairs as he slings his backpack off his shoulder, he lets himself in to his and Reiner’s flat and flings the bag into a corner with reckless abandon before collapsing sprawled across the couch.

Jean holds his phone up over his head and checks for a text from Reiner, then taps in an order from their favorite pizza place. Reiner’s coach would probably kill him if he found out how much shit he ate with Jean, massive deviations from the typical athlete mealplan--but hey, as long as Reiner keeps performing well enough to live up to the name of his full-ride scholarship, why the fuck not? Jean’s grateful for the instant order app. He hates phone calls to anyone but Reiner and his mother, especially when he’s in as fragile a state as he is right now.

There’s a loud bang as Reiner throws open the door, and Jean jolts up to see his boyfriend still sweating in only a half-unzipped hoodie. He should be wearing a hell of a lot more; but he probably decided to jog home after practice again. He has definitely not showered yet, but Jean doesn’t really care. He’ll probably mention it anyways, if for no other reason than to get on Reiner’s nerves.

“What’s up?” Reiner says, a little breathless. “Go ok?”

“No,” Jean deadpans. “But there’s gonna be pizza.” His voice wavers again before he can curb it, but it’s not like he could have fooled Reiner, anyway. “You reek and you need a fuckin’ shower.” It barely sounds normal for words like that to be coming out of Jean’s mouth--they certainly don’t match the wobbling whine his voice has reverted to for the time being.

Reiner knows him too well and respects him too much to comment on the way his voice sounds. Instead, he acts like everything is perfectly normal and strides right up to the couch, grabs Jean around the waist and hoists him up to crush their bodies together so Jean has no choice but to smell him and feel how damp he is.

Ah, the fresh, pungent scent of football practice. Glorious.

If one can huff sarcastically, Jean manages. He smashes his face against Reiner’s neck and inhales with all the overexaggeration he can muster, then shoots a shit-eating grin up to his boyfriend’s face. “Should be a designer fragrance.” He punctuates with a brief kiss to Reiner’s jaw, swipes his tongue over the resulting remnant of sweat-salt on his lips, and sloppily runs the back of his hand across his nose. Sniffing up the remnants of his snotty cry, Jean says,

“I got extra cheese.”

Reiner flashes one of his dumb charming smiles right back, tossing Jean all but effortlessly over his shoulder. “If I’m showering, you’re coming.”

Jean would have thrown a tantrum if he hadn’t wanted this really badly. He settles for kicking his legs just enough to make it seem like he’s at least trying to put up a struggle, then pounds his fists lightly against Reiner’s lower back. “Big brooo,” he whines. He uses the nickname for Reiner instinctively. Right now, after the shitty day he’s had, nothing else seems appropriate.

Patting him affectionately on the butt, Reiner doesn’t set him down until they’re in the cramped bathroom. They barely both fit in the shower. Nevertheless, it’s always been routine for them to strip and shuffle in together, continuing their conversation like they’re not naked and wet and touching in more places than most people would be comfortable touching. Now that they’ve been dating for three years, Jean supposes it’s less of a routine and more just an adopted way of life.

“Dumbass therapist says it’s my dad. Or like. My lack of dad. It’s bullshit.” Jean is thankful for the shower water at least. It hides the tear tracks that have left their shining mark on his long face.

“I don’t have a dad, and I turned out ok.” Reiner says it with a grin, but it’s a bad joke and they both know it.

Jean purses his lips and buries his face where it falls naturally forward into the center of Reiner’s chest, and Reiner’s hand comes up just as naturally to clasp the back of his neck. It’s a protective gesture, and one he does a lot--probably because of their considerable height difference.

“Mom said I could go to someone else. It’s hard.”

“Yeah, I know.” When Reiner says it, Jean knows it’s not just to make him feel better. Reiner really does know. Hell, he’s the only person who is allowed to tell Jean he understands.

“It’d be different if I thought a single one of them could actually help me.” Jean rubs his forehead from side to side against Reiner’s skin and finally settles with his ear pressed against Reiner’s chest. The muffled, steady rhythm of his heartbeat collides with the cacophony of water droplets splattering against the shower tile. It’s warm, and Jean knows he is safe here. “You’ve done more for me than any therapist.”

It’s true. Without Reiner, Jean’s not sure where he’d be. They were lucky to have found each other in that group therapy back in high school. Jean’s not religious, but this is one thing that he knows was ruled by Fate.

“Fuck ‘em all,” Jean says.

Reiner’s grin only grows more mischievous, immediately diffusing the serious situation as is his specialty. “I mean maybe they’re onto something with the thing about your dad. You did always want one.” He winks.

“No,” Jean is quick to correct. “Wanting an older man is not the same as wanting a dad. It was his idea for me to call him that, anyway.” His lips pull into a thin line. Clearly, Jean is not amused.

Tapping him lightly on the nose, Reiner shows no interest in Jean’s grumpiness. “But I know you love it. Even if no one else does.”

Jean rolls his eyes even though he knows that Reiner can’t see. Jean hopes that he at least imagines it. “That’s just because you know everything about me.” His mouth twitches into a smile when he traces down Reiner’s chest with his index finger, following the paths of the little rivulets as they trickle down toned pecs. “Love you,” Jean murmurs. It sounds stupid, he thinks, when the words leave his mouth, but they fill his stomach with butterflies anyways.

“You too, and that fucking tickles.” Reiner pushes his hand away, but he’s still smiling. “Look at you being so grown-up. Ordering food and everything. What do you even need me for?” His grin widens, and he reaches over Jean to turn the water off.

Jean bolts up immediately and glares at Reiner with narrowed eyes. “Okay, shitbag, you didn’t even use soap. That does not count as a shower.” He doesn’t actually care, but there’s this thing that’s appealing to him about driving Reiner nuts. If he’s not doing that, he kind of feels like his purpose in life goes kaput. “First you wipe your sweat on me, then you make fun of me for calling Marco Daddy, then you don’t even clean your nasty football muscles--I am so done with you, Reiner Braun.”

He flings the shower curtain open with all the pent-up rage of the little bitch baby he is and throws the only nearby towel over his shoulder, then struts from the bathroom naked to check the time on his phone. He knows he left Reiner without a towel. It’s punishment.

Knowing how many minutes left before he gets hot, savory pizza in his mouth is much more important.

Unfortunately, Jean forgets three very important things--that he is still buck naked, that Reiner has never gave a single shit about dripping water on the floor, and that he also has an awful lot of practice whipping other guys in the ass with damp towels because there is only so much time that one can spend in a men’s locker room without acquiring that skillset.

Jean really cannot win.

It fucking stings, and Jean pouts for half an hour afterwards; but when Reiner feeds him pizza and he’s trying to gobble down greasy strings of cheese, everything is pretty much better. They eat on the couch, mainly because they’re gross college guys but also because the table is covered in all their junk mail and the bills they have to pay. Reiner mumbles something unintelligible around a huge mouthful, and Jean’s phone buzzes on the couch next to him.

With the one hand not covered in pizza grease, he swipes across the lock screen and perks up with such excitement that a little grunt of happiness makes its way around his own glob of half-chewed cheese and tomato sauce. “Marco wants to Skype!” he says, assumes Reiner can understand him, and launches himself off the couch so he can trot over to his backpack and retrieve his laptop.

“I can tell it’s a serious relationship because you’re not checking the mirror first,” Reiner calls over to him, or something like that anyways. Jean isn’t really paying attention. Of course it’s fucking serious, they’ve been dating almost six months.

“Shut up, I’m not that vain you freak.” Jean plops back down on the couch beside Reiner and purposefully ignores the fact that he definitely checked the mirror every single time he and Marco Skyped for the first four months or so. Okay, so maybe he is that vain.

He absolutely chirrups when the weird Skype noises end and reward him with his lover’s face. “Daddy!”

Marco’s obviously in a hurry. He still has his tie and suit jacket on, and he always at least takes those off before he wants to call. He’s also grinning his face off. He looks like a kid waiting to unwrap his presents on Christmas morning, and it isn’t just because he still has a baby face at almost forty. “I’m sorry to interrupt, honey, but I have some amazing news and I’ve honestly waited long enough to give it to you. I mean, I didn’t want to get your hopes up…” Even if it wasn’t obvious enough already how excited he is, he’s talking at almost double his usual cadence.

Jean blinks and super-ungracefully takes another huge bite of pizza. He sees Bertholdt in the background, peering over Marco’s shoulder. This must really be important--Bert is usually too shy to even briefly say hello.

“Not interrupting. The hell’s going on?” Jean’s never seen the man so happy. It’s adorable, if not a little concerning.

“Well…” Marco purses his lips in what Jean can only assume is an attempt to look sly and secretive, but it doesn’t work very well because he can’t seem to stop the corners of his mouth from turning up. Reiner leans into the screen and wiggles his fingers--Jean assumes it’s at Bert, but he can’t be sure.

After a pause that’s a lot less dramatic than Marco probably thinks it is, he plows on. “I was offered a better position at our company’s new branch.”

Jean claps his hands together. “Aw, yay! ‘Course you did. You’re so good at all that money and business stuff and--” Okay, that sounds stupid and kind of condescending. For once, he realizes he sounds like an asshole and shuts his mouth. Hopefully, Marco understands.

“So what position is it?” Marco’s already pretty high up on the employee ladder--Jean knows that much even though he doesn’t come close to understanding the aspects of business and advertising and whatever else the fuck Marco does in New York.

“CEO!” Marco is quick to say; and Jean doesn’t need to know much of anything to get how big of a deal that is. “It’s a big move, but very worth it.” He’s pursing his lips again, or trying to.

Wow. Shit. CEO. His eyes shift to Reiner for a moment to see if he’s just as impressed with Marco’s new position as Jean is. “Holy fuck.” He figures it’s okay to be crass--this is kind of a big deal. He lifts an eyebrow and munches on his pizza. “Where ya moving?”

If Marco looked excited before, it’s nothing to how he looks now. His voice actually cracks when he answers.

“San Francisco.”

Jean’s lucky there’s no pizza in his mouth or Reiner would probably have needed to call an ambulance. “What?” he squeaks.

Reiner is also sitting bolt upright. A little more articulate, he says, “No way,” out loud.

“I’m moving to San Fran next month, sweetie.”

It’s always been kind of hard for Jean to process things like an adult, so he doesn’t. He all but throws his pizza crust across the room in excitement and actually waves his hands around like a child. Whatever words or profanities he tries to utter are little more than squeals and squeaks and desperate gasps because he’s temporarily forgotten how to breathe.

He’s so happy that he’s only vaguely aware of the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes and the way his face has heated about a hundred degrees.

Bert actually lifts a hand to his mouth like he’s trying not to laugh from where he leans over the couch beside Marco.

As usual, Reiner is available to swoop in and take over. He turns the laptop towards him and says something to Marco that Jean pays absolutely no attention to. At least he thinks it’s to Marco. Whatever.

“Daddy’s coming!” he squeals. It’s the only thing he can process for the rest of the night.

  


* * *

  


The constant mess that is Jean and Reiner’s flat has never been a problem until the day when Jean realizes that Marco will be there tomorrow and it’s very possible he’ll want to see where the boys live. He wouldn’t be pushy enough to force himself in, but Jean also wants to avoid the embarrassment of telling him that it’s just way too much of a wreck.

It would be rude. Jean and Marco may have known each other for over half a year, but that doesn’t mean that first impressions won’t also count in person.

“Babe, are these clothes dirty or did you just never fold them?”

“Smell them?” Reiner calls from halfway across the house, where he’s cleaning out the fridge to stop Jean from having a conniption.

“Everything smells like your shitty spray deodorant. It’s useless.”

“Well if it doesn’t smell like BO I think that counts as clean.” Reiner appears at the door. “If it’s mine, you’ll know if it needs to be washed.”

Jean rolls his eyes. Yeah, he’s totally right. Reiner’s BO is, well, something.

“Hey,” Jean says. There’s some hesitance in his call for attention. “I know today was kind of fucked up for you. You don’t have to help with this if you don’t want to. It’s my boyfriend that might be coming, not yours.”

Reiner gives him a somewhat kinder smile than usual, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s important to you. I get it. And it wasn’t that bad, so don’t worry.”

Over the years, Jean has learned that Reiner’s definition of “that bad” is never really what it should be. It’s not something Jean ever wants to bring up, but that doesn’t change the fact that he knows he needs to. “You know I’m going to worry. I’ve never not worried. You’d be worried about me if I had almost regressed today. So let me show at least a little bit of concern, huh?”

“I’m ok,” Reiner insists with a heavy sigh. “Really, I am. I need a distraction more than anything else.”

“You know best,” Jean admits. “Doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you.” It’s been a long time since Reiner has flipped, which is good, for obvious reasons. It’s also kind of bad, because both Jean and Reiner know that the medicine can only prolong the intervals so much. It’s bound to happen at least mildly at one point or another. It’s only a matter of when, and which personality will choose to present and rear its ugly head. “You sure you’ll be okay to be alone when I go out to meet Marco tomorrow? Should we, like, call someone? Mom can probably take the BART and stay here with you since it’s the weekend and she doesn’t have to teach…”

“Don’t bug your mom. I’m honestly pretty okay. I mean, I can text you if I get worried? I usually have some idea what’s going on.” He cracks a tired grin. “And you don’t want her washing our sheets again, do you?”

Jean’s eyes widen. He had totally forgotten about that. Just because Jean is aware of the fact that his mother has known of his and Reiner’s sexual escapades since they were sixteen does not mean that he ever wants her rubbing it in his face again. “You and her were the only ones who found that funny, by the way.”

“Oh come on, it was kind of hilarious.” Reiner straightens up. “I’m gonna take the garbage out. You got any?

A thumb toss over Jean’s shoulder towards the mostly-full garbage bag in the corner of the bedroom is a clear enough answer. “You know, if you get to feeling like shit tomorrow, you can always Skype Bert. He’ll be lonely with Marco gone, and…” Jean trails off, the corner of his lips lifting in a suggestive smirk.

Reiner returns the look as he crosses the room to grab the garbage bag. “I was planning on it at some point, yeah. He really doesn’t dig being alone. Sucks that he has to wait two weeks after Marco leaves.”

“Still can’t believe it was your idea for me to go looking for another guy, it actually worked, and you ended up with a friend, too.” Jean uses the word “friend” loosely. Jean lifts his head from the pile of clothes on the floor and drops the shirt he was folding, then stares at the wall with a contemplative expression. The closeness of his brows tells just how worried he’s feeling about all of this, even when the scenario would have looked perfect to any outsider looking in.

“Hey, it’s not like Bert and me are a thing.” Reiner grabs the bag and goes to leave the room. “I can’t blame him for not wanting to do long distance.” Reiner’s smile gets wider, because obviously in two weeks it won’t be long distance anymore.

Looks like he’ll actually get his chance. Good for him.

Jean may admittedly be a selfish brat, but that doesn’t mean he’s not been concerned about how Marco living nearby will throw off his and Reiner’s relationship. Jean having two boyfriends hasn’t really been a problem, especially since Marco is always busy and only available in an online setting until now. The dynamic is going to change--Jean is certain of it. He just hopes it won’t fuck things up, because he’s pretty content with the way things are.

Once Reiner is gone from the room, he stares blankly at the wall and tries to keep his hands busy with folding clothes to distract himself from the millions of things he’s trying not to worry about.

First of all, there’s the glaringly obvious fact that Marco might totally hate him in person. Jean is pretty aware that he’s a hard guy to like, and even Marco’s infinite kindness and patience might not be enough to make Jean faultless in his eyes. Obnoxious personality aside, just because Marco knows about Jean’s mental health (or lack thereof) does not mean that he’ll respond favorably the first time Jean regresses in front of him. As much as Marco may call himself Jean’s daddy, it doesn’t mean that’s going to be pretty. Jean is fucked up, and he knows it. It’s part of the reason why he and Reiner have been so close--Reiner understands Jean’s plight from his own experience. They’re comfortable with each other.

Marco doesn’t know what he’s getting into.

Secondly, there is the fact that Jean is pretty thoroughly polyamorous now. Reiner has been awesome about it. That may or may not change.

Finally, there’s… Well, there’s sex. Sure, Jean and Marco have fooled around a bit (as much as one can manage on the phone, anyway), sent each other a couple of suggestive pictures, mentioned things they’d like to do with each other someday, but the reality is that no one other than Reiner has ever even see Jean naked, much less touched his dick. Hell, Jean’s never even kissed anyone else before. Reiner has been his whole life--a life that he loves. He loves Marco, too, but he’s basically his mother’s age and Jean is just a six-year-old brat in a twenty-year-old’s body.

It’s amazing that things have worked out this well so far.

When Jean feels the hot sting of tears, he wonders if it’s possible for him to get through a single day without crying anymore.

“Don’t be such a little bitch,” Reiner says, obviously back from his task. “Come on, man. Your daddy’s coming. Cheer up.” He’s probably the only person who can manage to make that sound sincere and not like a snide remark from a jealous asshole.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” Jean sniffs, exaggeratedly, as his lower lip trembles and he throws the shirt he’s tried a million times to fold back into the pile. “And like, what if it fucks stuff up with us?” His sentences are just collections of little whines, now. “I really need my bro. I can’t lose him. I don’t want stuff to change and he might hate me and I--”

He’s fully aware he’s repeating himself and that he makes no sense. That doesn’t make it any easier to find the words he needs to express whatever the fuck he’s feeling right now.

“Yeah, I mean I’m a little worried too. But what if it gets better, right? Even more awesome.” Reiner ruffles his hair. “You won’t lose me.”

Jean throws his arms around his boyfriend’s strong arms and peers up at Reiner, lifting his head and pursing his still-trembling lips.

He gets his kiss; close-mouthed but lingering, and it promises him all the things he needs reassuring about. “Just don’t be so down about it,” Reiner mutters as he pulls back. “It’ll be fun.”

Jean trusts Reiner, always has, and this time is no exception. If big bro says it’s okay, then it’s okay. It will be. Reiner would never lie to him.

  


* * *

  


The condo is filled with boxes, even though Bertholdt isn’t leaving for two weeks. There’s always a lot more to pack than one thinks there will be, and he’s needed Marco’s help for at least the bulk of it. Of course, Marco would never leave Bert all the anxiety-inducing responsibility of moving to deal with by himself. Regardless, as he lays in Bert’s bed with the tall man by his side, it’s hard to stop thinking of all the things that Bert will still have to manage by himself.

“Your tickets are on the counter,” Bert says quietly, his voice breaking the silence. He is obviously much more nervous about Marco leaving than Marco is.

“I know, sweetie,” Marco replies in that same gentle tone he uses with Jean. He guides Bertholdt, helps him turn in the bed so that his back is to Marco’s stomach, then wraps his arms around the slender frame. Marco may be notably shorter than Bert, but he’s a damn good big spoon and he knows it. “It’s only for a couple of weeks.” Even as he says it, he knows it’s a huge deal. He and Bert haven’t been apart for more than a weekend in years. Marco’s nose brushes against the short hairs on the back of Bert’s neck, and he presses a soft kiss to the nape. “And I love you.”

“You, too.” There’s a rustle as Bert buries his face in the pillow. It’s an unspoken understanding that Marco would not have taken the position if the company hadn’t allowed Bertholdt to transfer with him. Unfortunately, Marco is needed in San Fran sooner than his personal assistant and the company’s bookkeeper.

Marco nibbles his ear. It’s more of a playful gesture than a sexual one. “And you won’t be alone for a single day, baby. I’m going to Skype you once in the morning and once at night from the day I leave until the day I pick you up at the airport. Okay? We can even talk more if you want. I’ll have my phone all day--at work, too.” He pulls his arms together in a little squeeze around Bert’s waist.

“... Okay,” Bert replies, voice still quiet. Marco knows that the hardest part will be for Bert to go to work every morning, nine more days until he flies out to follow the man he relies on so heavily. Marco has done his best though, made sure there’s plenty of food in the house and that his darling has enough medication to last even if he has to take his extra, as-needed dosage every day. He may well, after all. “I’ll be fine,” Bert insists. It’s more than obvious that he’s trying to convince himself.

“That’s the spirit.” Marco grins, makes sure that Bert can feel the gesture against his skin. “This is going to be good for us. San Francisco is a lovely city. It’s cleaner than here, and people won’t be as rude. I really think you’ll love it.”

Marco pauses for a moment, long enough to blink and allow the inkling of a thought into his brain that he knows he’s not supposed to have. For years, his therapists have taught him to ignore those thoughts, to recognize them and then push them away; but now he makes the conscious decision to dwell on the notion that’s forced its way past his mind’s defenses. Even worse, he verbalizes his resulting thoughts to Bert, and in doing so, draws him into the place they’re not supposed to be together.

“You’re going to need me while I’m away, aren’t you? It’s not going to be the same without me.” He knows the potential damage of what he’s saying even as he says it, but Marco’s indulging himself. He’ll regret it later.

“Of course I will,” Bertholdt mumbles in response, so sweet and dependant and susceptible to the most well-meaning manipulation. “I still have to go to work every morning…”

“You’ll miss me.” It’s not a question, and that’s on purpose. “Because you love me so, so much and rely on my help. You’re just not the same without me, baby.” Marco’s voice is sweet, practically a coo in Bert’s easily-persuaded ear.

“I’m not.” And Marco knows that Bert truly thinks that, too.

It’s unclear to Marco whether his words are a genuine compliment or just a reward for being so compliant when he says, “You’re my good boy, Bertholdt.” He’s very, very aware of how he calls Bert his and the way he lets his partner’s full name slide from his lips in the most sensual of tones.

The tall man relaxes at the words like they’re a spell, and Marco wonders if he’ll be telling this to their therapist on Friday. He supposes it doesn’t matter. They’re getting a new one soon. There will be no one to tell him that what he’s doing is in the wrong, no one to reprimand him. The thought of pointing out Marco’s mistakes surely doesn’t even cross Bert’s mind.

“My flight doesn’t leave until early afternoon--how would you like to make a nice breakfast with me?” Marco’s hands slide up the front of Bertholdt’s shirt to feel of the heated skin beneath, and his palm comes to a rest over Bert’s heart.

The little nod is immediate. “You shouldn’t eat on the plane. I hear it’s awful.”

“It is pretty bad,” Marco agrees with a  chuckle jingling in his words. He’s certainly been on enough business trips to know that the added benefits of flying first-class don’t really carry over to the food. “But you know, I’m getting hungry just thinking about those waffles you’re so good at making.” His hands roam over Bert’s chest and upwards until his fingers are splayed over the man’s long neck, and Marco pulls his entire body closer to Bert’s. He’s really, really going to miss this man.

“I can do that.” Bertholdt is all quiet contentment, something that only Marco can bring out of him, here in this space where they are alone and undisturbed by the weights of the world.

Bertholdt is Marco’s after all, so that’s how it should be. If Bert is not content, there’s something wrong; when Bert is content with Marco, everything is right. When the taller man’s breathing grows deep and Marco can feel the slow rise and fall of his thin belly, he tightens his grip around Bert to make sure he knows to whom he belongs, even in sleep.

  


**Author's Note:**

> So, you made it this far. Kudos are great, but we positively thrive on comments and other types of feedback. We want to know what we did right and what we didn't, what you want to see and what you're curious about, what scares you or what made you squeal--tell us everything!
> 
> This should be a fun project, and we can't wait to have some good times with all our readers. <3
> 
> Love,
> 
> Em


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